


I'm Getting Too Old For This

by comeonlight



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: F/F, Love Expert Cindy and Also Jeanne, Messy Feelings, Minor Character(s), Post-Canon, Sexual Content, Smooching, Talcott the Cockblock, slightly canon non-compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-28 05:27:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18204146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comeonlight/pseuds/comeonlight
Summary: "Aranea never thought herself the type to fall in love, but something keeps pulling her back to Iris and it's certainly more than libido."Or: "Let's sort out all these feelings at once!" Rebuilding after a decade of darkness is no easy task, and a wrecking ball of emotions sure doesn't help.





	1. Rise and Shine

**Author's Note:**

> Foreword
> 
> Firstly, let me apologize for this abomination. Not for the ship (I've learned to embrace being a heathen when it comes to shipping), but for how this work turned out. I will tell you now that the ending does feel abrupt. I will also tell you that I struggled greatly in writing Aranea for this fic. And the pacing is a mess. Regardless of these concerns of mine, however, I truly did feel like a "vessel for the muse" while writing the majority of this. Though I wish I'd done it better, this is (for the most part) how the story wanted to be written. It is my hope that by some small chance, this fic can make someone's day.
> 
> And yes, I did get lazy with the chapter summaries. Welcome to hell.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in ten years, the sun rises.

Iris scrubs the blade of her greatsword, zoned out as the circular motion of her hand gradually removes layers of dirt and dried blood. It's times like this - her “sort-of-downtime” - that she lets her mind wander. Given the phone call she'd hung up from just minutes ago, her thoughts go immediately to one important fact: the King has returned.

While the girlish crush on Noctis is long gone, it's certainly not easy to accept his fate. They've been friends since childhood. After a decade of absence, Noctis has finally returned only to die. She can't go see him. Why, he's probably halfway to Insomnia by now. Besides, she still has an incident report to finish up. The most she can do now is have faith in the Chosen King.

Familiar footsteps hit the worn hardwood of the short corridor outside Iris’ room, stirring the young woman from her trance. Aranea pokes her head inside and knocks on the open door. Iris lifts her brow, and the corners of her lips curve into a brief smile. “No, don't come in, I left the door wide open to keep people out.”

Aranea gives an upward nod and enters, shutting the door behind her. “One of these days that snark is gonna bite you in the ass.”

Iris lifts her sword with one arm and examines the blade for remnants of grime. “I take it you speak from experience?” She sets her weapon down in a dull metal case on the floor.

Aranea invites herself to take a seat next to Iris on the stained and worn-out carpet. “You seem to be taking things well.”

Iris pushes her sword case under her bed and slouches against the squeaky bed frame. “I've had time to mentally prepare. Hardly makes things easier, but...I'll manage.” She stares into space, wearing an obviously fake smile. The expression sparks Aranea’s irritation.

“Bottle things up like that and you're in for a hell of a breakdown later.”

“You don't have to tell me.” Iris rises to her feet and strides over to a chest of drawers. She opens the top drawer and retrieves a tiny sewing kit along with a black shirt, then returns to sitting at Aranea’s side. She opens the sewing kit and picks up a tiny spool of black thread. “Not to sound full of myself, but my smile keeps people's spirits up. Can't have them see me moping.”

“I see you moping. Real clear.” Aranea looks down at Iris’ hands, now threading a needle with ease.

Iris folds a frayed edge and sticks the needle through the fabric. “It's fine if you see. You don't look to me for hope.”

Aranea laughs inwardly as Iris begins to sew. “Thing is, I do. And you used to look to me for advice. Now you won't listen when I tell you to let it out. It’s not like I haven't seen your deepest state of vulnerability before.”

Iris ties a knot with the thread and cuts it with her teeth. “That was only a couple of times.”

“Five.”

“Don't suppose you're looking to make it six?”

“Not with the headspace you're in right now.”

Iris throws the shirt across the room to the top of the chest and sets the needle down in the sewing kit. “What can I say? I'm bad at mourning. Even Dad… I was sad, but I just kept going. Amicitias are tough, you know.”

Aranea slinks an arm over Iris’ shoulders. “And hard-headed. I know what it's like to lose somebody close. A lot of us do, these days. Lean on someone's shoulder once in a while, okay?”

Iris sighs and leans in toward Aranea. “Fine. I'll lean on yours.” Iris’ weight is nothing to scoff at, but also nothing the renowned Dragoon can't support. Aranea brings her free arm up over Iris’ head and combs through the dark hair with her fingers. She can feel Iris’ muscles relax as the interaction goes on, and a sense of calm grows within her as well.

“Ara, let's lie down.”

That suggestion has taken an unexpected direction more than once in the past, but Aranea obliges. The bed frame creaks as the two women move onto the mattress and curl up facing each other. Iris closes her eyes. “Hope you don't feel too tiny.”

Aranea moves one hand back into Iris’ hair, resuming the gentle strokes. “Shut it, Giant.”

Iris lets out a vacant laugh, her mind clinging to the peace of Aranea’s touch as tears well up behind her eyelids.

* * *

Iris is still asleep when the dawn breaks. Aranea watches her still, tear-stained face as a commotion begins outside. It starts as a hum of gasps and whispers, then, almost all at once, cheers. Iris opens her eyes to see Aranea, smiling. Out the window she can see hints of pink in the sky as the darkness recedes. She looks back to Aranea, speechless.

So, Aranea speaks instead. “Good morning.” She watches with a grin as the full realization takes over Iris’ face. “Pretty Boy did-” Her sentence gets cut off by Iris’ lips in an impulsive kiss. All logical thought halts.

Iris’ tongue spills out of her mouth, messy and greedy and shameless. Her knee prods against Aranea’s legs until they part, and Aranea’s lips do as well. Against her better judgement, Aranea kisses back. Kissing Iris always feels good regardless of whether it's soft and tender or rough and hot. That's the danger of it. Aranea never thought herself the type to fall in love, but something keeps pulling her back to Iris and it's certainly more than libido.

Aranea rocks her hips gently as Iris’ thigh presses up against her crotch. She slips a hand beneath Iris’ shirt and feels the muscles and scars. A small noise from the back of her throat slips out-

And then a knock at the door abruptly interrupts the two. “Miss Iris!” Talcott says from outside. “Pardon.” The doorknob turns and Talcott enters. “His Majesty did it! He banished the daemons!”

Talcott witnesses the sight of Aranea, lying on her back on the floor, and Iris, sitting up in bed with messy hair. Both their faces are a bit flushed, which points to only one conclusion: “You two are drinking to celebrate, huh? Well, sorry for interrupting. Come outside when you get the chance. There's a group planning a trip to Insomnia today and they asked for you by name.”

“Sure, yeah,” Iris breathes. Talcott nods and backs out of the doorway, closing the door behind him.

“You didn't lock the damn thing?” Aranea asks.

Iris sets her feet on the floor. “You were the last one to come in, smartass. But Talcott’s right. We should go see what the game plan is.”

Aranea squints as more light pours into the room. “...hn. Yeah.”

* * *

Outside is chaos. Joyful, excited, chaos. Iris spots Talcott chatting with Monica and a couple of Glaives, so she approaches the small crowd. Aranea, not exactly sure what to do with herself at present, tags along.

“Just who I wanted to see,” Monica says when the women come within earshot. She holds a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other. Based on her tight grip, it seems she's written quite a bit in the little time since the sun lit up the horizon. “Good morning. Allow me to fill you in. The citizens are, understandably, eager to leave Lestallum, so our current goal is to make that happen as soon as possible.” Monica glances over the top sheet of paper on the clipboard. “Since we have some reconnaissance intel on the Crown City as well as Glaives and Crownsguard members located there, we will begin with Insomnia. Essentially, cleanup duty. Then we get to rebuilding.”

Aranea puts a hand on her hip. “Cleanup. So, rubble, anything dead, and anything else that ‘does not belong.’ Right?”

Monica nods. “Yes. I trust each of your judgement. Actually...Iris, Aranea, if one of you could escort Cindy, I'd be grateful. She and Jeanne will be heading out to look at the power grids. Forgive me if I seem overly cautious now that the light has returned, but better safe than sorry.”

“Don't let Cindy hear you saying that,” Aranea says. “She can handle herself. And Jeanne was a hunter way back, right? They're fine. But I'll cover your bases.”

Monica jots down a note. “Excellent. Thank you. Now, let's begin.”

Talcott waves, saying, “I'll see you soon,” as Iris and the Glaives head off toward a shuttle. Aranea watches them silently as cheers of “Hail the King of Light!” rise in volume.


	2. Sweetheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day back in Insomnia.

The middle seat. Okay. Fine. Cindy's the driver and Jeanne needs the space. The middle seat isn't too bad, Aranea assures herself. She stares through the windshield at the empty road and the blue sky. It's so...bright.

“Alright, what's up?” Jeanne asks, lightly jabbing Aranea’s arm with her elbow.

Aranea takes her eyes off the scenery and looks at Jeanne. “The sun, apparently.” It's as good an answer as any, if a bit corny.

“Oh, no, hon,” Cindy says with a grin. “You've got sweet tea just waiting to spill from those pretty little lips of yours. No good tryin’a hide it.”

Aranea crosses her arms and leans back in her seat. “Yeah, no clue what you're talking about.” Cindy and Jeanne exchange a glance but say nothing. The three sit in silence as Aranea thinks to herself. The truck passes a weathered, twisted street sign reading “IN   N A 5 I S” and Cindy drums her fingers against the steering wheel. Jeanne scratches the back of her head and opens the glove compartment. She takes out a few folded papers and closes it again, then unfolds one of the papers. It's a newspaper-sized map of all the power lines with a bunch of written notes. Aranea glances over, then looks at the road again. She takes a long breath, then sighs.

“...I fucked Iris.”

The other two women remain silent, but Aranea can  _ feel  _ them listening intently.

“I mean, not like we just fucked last night, but we  _ have  _ fucked. But that's not the problem. The problem is that I'm feeling kind of...like…”

“You've fallen for the Daemon Slayer,” Jeanne assists.

Aranea drops her head into her hands. “Yeah. That. Maybe.”

Cindy smiles, as if savoring Aranea’s awkward blunder. It's hard to tell what's going through her mind. “Now don't you fret, darlin’. That Iris is a sweetheart, so she'll take right good care of  _ your _ heart.”

Aranea groans. “It was supposed to be casual. Then she just had to go and be all...Iris-y.”

“Oooh, she's got it bad,” Jeanne sneers.

Aranea takes in a breath to calm herself and lifts her head. “It'll go away if I don't think about it. There are more important things to focus on, like rebuilding.”

The shapes of Insomnia’s skyscrapers appear on the horizon. Cindy speeds up. “Yeah, that's important. Rebuild, move forward to a happier future. And if Iris makes you happy, doll, then don't you go repressin’ that.”

Aranea slouches a bit. “...I'll figure it out.”

Cindy seems satisfied with that answer. She smiles and proceeds toward the city limits.

The main road is, as expected, covered in debris, but it's mostly small obstacles that the all-terrain wheels can roll right over. Aranea expected a ghost town, but the empty food stalls and dusty windows still bring an unsettling feeling. She recognizes some of the logos on faded signs. Simpler times. As the truck drivers further into the city, Aranea spots a few hunters moving rubble out of the street. The Citadel comes into view. That's where the King died. It still doesn't feel quite real. How will Iris handle the funeral? Has she seen the body already?

The truck comes to a stop. “Thank you for your company, Miss Highwind,” Cindy says, putting the vehicle in park. “You go on and get to what you need to do. We'll have electricity going for the whole district before you know it.” She opens the door and climbs out. Aranea shakes off her thoughts of Iris and hops out of the vehicle. Further down the street she can spot Ignis. There’s probably no better person to ask where she should head, so she waves to Cindy and Jeanne and gets moving.

As Aranea closes in on Ignis, Prompto pops up from some side street. “Aranea! Perfect. We need all the hands we can get.”

“How can I help?” Aranea asks.

Ignis turns to Prompto. “If you could provide Miss Highwind with a map of the intended residential area, my friend.”

Prompto reaches into his jacket’s inner pocket and pulls out a neatly folded piece of paper. He offers it to Aranea. “This’ll help you around.”

“The cleanup operation is going smoothly overall. The next matter at hand is to clear debris from the area marked on your map. Currently, only a handful of volunteers are taking on that task, but we’ve received word that a shuttle full of hunters are on their way to lend a hand. I ask that you, Aranea, assist in inspecting the homes in that area for major damage.” Ignis takes a pen from his pocket and extends it, waiting for Aranea to take it. “Please record anything of note.”

Aranea takes the pen and the map. “Alright. If I find any cans of food that haven’t expired, I’ll jot it down. Any alcohol is mine, though.” She flashes a smile at the men, who return the gesture, and heads off to the area marked on her map. One of the roads has already been cleared, so she walks right to her destination. As expected, it’s pretty much a mid-city apartment complex. There are small but plentiful units rising ten stories above the ground. That means lots of work to be done. Aranea rolls her head over her shoulders, gives her arms and legs a good stretch, then heads into the first unit.

“Trashed.” Aranea makes a note on the map. The entire apartment looks like a hurricane blew through, water damage included. Some of the walls have claw marks, others entire holes. The furniture has collapsed on itself for the most part, and even the clothing in the closets is half-eaten. The only thing that “survived” is a safe. Figures.

The other apartments on that hall are pretty much the same: ravaged by daemons or water or both. The upper floors, however, hold promise. Some units look perfectly fine aside from some items and furniture having fallen over. Dusty, sure. But cozy. If she were to ever settle down somewhere, why not Insomnia? The whole war thing is in the past for most people, and she’s getting a little too old to be flying around all the time.

Aranea stomps on the floor. “Focus.” She ascends to the next floor, inspecting and writing and occasionally walking onto balconies to look down at the others taking cement, metal, and other debris off to wherever. Iris is there, lifting junk twice her size with a spring in her step. Gladiolus, too. Blissfully unaware. It’s probably best that way. He’ll find out eventually, but that can wait. Aranea returns to her duties.

* * *

The anxiety sets in when the sun starts to set. Everyone’s buzzing with it: the fear that the night will come, and stay forevermore. Everyone currently in Insomnia hunkers down in a Kingsglaive camp. The entrances are sealed off over a half hour before dark. A giant pot of water for hygienic needs boils and hunters distribute sleeping bags that are practically in tatters. Better than nothing, but the only real highlight of the situation is the fact that Ignis is cooking and he somehow manages to keep a plethora of ingredients on his person.

Aranea elects to sit with Ignis, without hesitation. She wouldn’t want to interrupt Iris and Gladiolus’ chat. A meal with family is precious, after all.

“Are you alright, Aranea?” Ignis asks. He blows gently on the bowl of soup in his hands. The man can read people like books...even if he can’t actually see.

“Just a lot on my mind.” Aranea takes a sip from her bowl. “Good stuff.”

“I aim to please,” Ignis replies. “Tomorrow morning, we’ll be cleaning the inhabitable units. Cindy predicts that we’ll be able to power that area using meteor shards by nightfall.”

Aranea turns to Ignis. “Already?”

Ignis sips his soup. “Yes, well, the damage was much less severe than predicted, and Jeanne had several plans drafted already. It’s but a question of manpower now. After the apartments are clean, we’ll divide into groups to help assist in the electricity effort or to head out to the fields. I’d like to cook with fresh, locally grown Insomnian ingredients.”

“That would be nice.” Aranea instantly begins to daydream about fresh food: ripe fruits, tender, juicy meat more than once every few months, a nice cookout under the sun…

“Yes,” Ignis agrees, pulling Aranea from her fantasy. “Well, best to finish this quickly. No microwaves here, I’m afraid. And, as they say, ‘early to bed, early to rise.’ The dawn won’t wait for us.”

Aranea speeds up her eating. If Ignis serves it hot, it’s going in her stomach hot. It’s surprisingly filling. That and Ignis’ utmost certainty that the sun will indeed rise again lets her relax a bit. “Yeah. We could all use some sleep.” Not that she believes for a second that she’ll sleep well.

The men and women bathe in separate rooms. “Bathing” meaning putting soap into a bucket of boiling water, dipping a rag in, and scrubbing away from head to toe. Aranea keeps her back to Iris, though the latter initiates conversation. Of course she does. She’s a friendly ray of sunshine.

“I’d say we got a lot done today,” Iris says. The other women - Glaives, hunters, Cindy, Jeanne - they all make noises of agreement and smile. And then Iris just  _ has  _ to ask. “Don’t you think so, Ara?”

Aranea plays it off with a smile. She looks over her shoulder at Iris, only for a second. “Yeah, I’ll say.” She hurries to finish washing up and throws on a borrowed set of old but sturdy hunter fatigues while her normal attire dries. In hindsight, she should’ve thought to at least bring some underclothes, but the request to go to Insomnia after  _ the sun came up for the first time in a decade  _ seemed more like a “travel now, pack later” kind of thing. Maybe she can send a message for someone to bring her belongings, which, really, is just one suitcase. For now, the briefs and no bra will have to do.

Aranea returns to the main area and receives a sleeping bag from a hunter. Spaces near the entrances are already taken up - mostly by Glaives - so Aranea finds herself a nice corner to sleep in. Sleep will be good. She can dream about things other than her questionably existent love life.

“Hey.” It’s so nice to hear Iris’ gentle whisper. And so, so terrifying. Aranea almost leaps into the air. But she doesn’t. She keeps herself together and lets Iris speak against her ear. “I know it’s been a long day, but you seem a little off. Feel free to talk to me, okay? Sweet dreams.” And then, just as swiftly as she’d come, she pisses right off.

Aranea sighs. If it weren’t for all that walking up and down stairs and going through  _ all those apartment units,  _ she wouldn’t be getting a wink of sleep. But she’s tired, and her stomach is full, and the daemons are gone. And the King is dead. Iris cried it out. She saw Iris cry it out. She was right there with her. She knows Iris would do the same for her in a heartbeat, be right there at her side - but she can’t bring herself to burden a woman who just lost a lifelong friend with her bullshit. Maybe later. But not now. Aranea closes her eyes.


	3. Avoidance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day of hard work. And avoiding Iris.

“Hello daylight,” Prompto says, poking his head out of camp to check the surroundings. No daemons. No perpetual darkness. Just the quiet city of Insomnia and the rising sun. “Come on, let's get movin’. New day, everybody.”

It's a new day indeed. A new day spent helping to clean up dusty apartments and then either getting electricity to the area or driving out to the middle of nowhere to plant crops. Aranea ends up with the latter group, riding in the back of a pickup truck. With Iris. And Gladiolus.

“So, I didn't get the chance to ask: How’ve you been?” Gladiolus’ friendly greeting only further cements Aranea’s notion that he has no. Fucking. Clue.

“Been alright. Same old, same old until yesterday. It's definitely a...change of pace.” Aranea takes a packet of carrot seeds out of one of the boxes on the bed of the truck. “Definitely didn't expect to be a farmer.”

“Better get ready for more surprises,” Iris says. She pushes some windblown hair out of her face. “The adventure’s just getting started.”

Aranea wishes she could be that carefree, or more accurately,  _ act  _ that carefree. “Yup. Nothing more thrilling than putting seeds in the ground.” She sets the packet of seeds back in the box. “But hey, come harvest time, that's more mouths fed.”

“Now you're talkin’,” Gladiolus says. “Noct gave us this second chance. Let's do him proud. Him and everyone who fought for this future.”

“Hear, hear,” a Glaive, who up until this point hasn't been a part of the conversation, interjects. Gladiolus exchanges a silent glance with Aranea, then Iris, then smiles at the Glaive.

The truck stops. Gladiolus stands up. “Alright, everyone out.” At that, everyone steps (or jumps) out of the truck. The driver, a hunter, points forward to a humongous field hosting rows upon rows of soil. “Just plant as much as ya can. I'll whistle when it's time for a break.” She gives a single, loud whistle as an example. “Right, let's hop to it.”

Aranea takes all the carrot seeds she can find, then waits to see where the others go. Gladiolus picks a row not far from Iris, and that one talkative Glaive picks the row right next to him. Naturally, Aranea picks the row as far as physically possible from Iris, way off on the right edge of the field, because that's what a grownass woman does: avoids the person that has her brain scrambled because she hasn't felt a spark of romance in more years than she cares to count. Maybe planting these seeds will clear her mind, if she can just get in the zone. The seed-planting zone. Surprisingly, she does manage to get in the zone. After a good half hour, that is. It's kind of therapeutic. Just her hands and the seeds and the soil. And a good stretch here and there.

The driver whistles. “Break! Lunch!”

Aranea doesn't have a watch on her person, but she trusts that it's been at least a few hours if they're eating lunch already. It's the bland canned stuff. Mystery meat and mushy veggies. It can't be Ignis’ cuisine all the time. Aranea eats without complaint, and chugs lukewarm water. She finally feels the sweat and the aches all over her body. Not fun, but nothing she can't handle. After resting a few more minutes, she heads back out to the field. Iris follows.

“Sooo you wanna tell me why you're planting so far away from everyone?” the younger woman asks.

“I focus better,” Aranea answers. “Productivity is the goal. Get back to your row. Eyes on the prize: dinner.”

Iris doesn't try to press further. She returns to her row, but Aranea is sure she'll check in some other time. It's hard to hide the fact that she's got something on her mind from Iris. And Ignis. And Cindy and Jeanne, apparently. What a joke. She sighs and plants seeds, humming a tune she makes up as she goes along and letting her simmering feelings settle down.

Aranea returns to the truck when she runs out of seeds. The only seeds left are some for radishes, so she picks those up and returns to the field. Not ten minutes later does the driver whistle again. All hands on the field walk to the truck.

The driver scratches her head. “So, you guys actually work faster than I thought, and we gotta save room for other stuff, so we're calling it a day. Hop in, we're headin’ back.” Pleasantly surprised, the party climbs into the truck and conversation starts up. “Wicked tan,” the Glaive from before says to Iris. Aranea steals a glance. What do ya know? Iris tans pretty damn well. As for herself… “Wicked burn,” the Glaive continues, noticing the red on Aranea’s face and arms. Ten years without sunlight and then she suddenly spends a day in the field without sunscreen? Adds up. She takes a look at Gladiolus. Slight tan. Must be genetic.

Despite the unwarranted comment, Aranea finds herself grateful to the talkative Glaive for keeping the Amicitias occupied. The more awkward conversations she can avoid, the better. She looks out toward the urban scape of Insomnia as the truck approaches. The sun hangs low in the sky, but there's still time to...do whatever is needed, for a couple of hours.

Upon arrival to the uptown area, Aranea sees that the single surviving streetlamp is on: a single, steady light. Prompto greets the group. “Hey! Power's on. Still working on the water. We've got some folks headed over to help, but for now, boil city. We also found some bottled water. Tastes fine.” He holds up a half-empty plastic bottle of water and takes a sip.

“Nice work,” Gladiolus says. “Care to point us in the direction of some soap and boiling hot water?”

Prompto begins to walk. “Right this way.” The group with soil-stained hands follows Prompto. Aranea lingers in the back. Surprisingly, Iris doesn't join her. This is good. Right? Probably.

Everyone washes their hands with soap and water still steaming from its boil as the heavenly scent of Ignis’ cooking drifts into their noses. “Starting early, isn't he?” Iris asks.

Prompto looks over at Ignis, whose hands move non-stop. “Oooh, he's inspired. We  _ did  _ get some rare meats in while you were gone. I'm looking forward to whatever he's got up his sleeve.”

“No kidding,” Gladiolus says. “So, gather ‘round under the streetlamp for dinner and go to bed in cozy apartments?”

Prompto shoots Gladiolus a quick finger gun. “What better way to ensure they're fit for livin’ in? Gotta try out those fresh sheets.”

So that's the situation. There should be more than enough apartments for everyone currently in the city, which means Aranea should be able to get some private time. If only she could get a massage too. It's not nearly as bad as a great many of her previous strenuous days, but her muscles frickin’ hurt.

As the sun sinks behind the skyline, Ignis finishes his masterpiece. Everyone gathers for a glistening curry served over slices of cactuar meat. Because the chef is Ignis, no one hesitates to chow down.

For this meal, Aranea sits with Cindy. Not that she necessarily wants to talk, but it's refreshing? Maybe that's the word. It's less stressful to be around someone who knows what's going on, even if she's bound to bring it up.

“How's it goin’, sweet pea?” Cindy asks in a near whisper.

“Going…” Aranea mumbles. “Alright.”

“Horse shit,” Cindy replies. “All you avoiding her is gonna do, is make her worry. If I didn't know ya I'd say you don't know squat about relationships.”

“It's been a hot minute, okay?” Aranea grumbles in her defense. “It's hard to admit whatever this feeling is. Or isn't.”

“Talk to her.”

“Later.”

Aranea scarfs down the rest of her dinner, save for the last bite; she savors that shit. When it's all gone she repeats to Cindy, “Later.” She stands up and walks off. Cindy shakes her head. “Actin’ like a right teenager.”

Aranea chooses to retreat to a third-story apartment. She enters and flips the light switch. The lights flicker on. “Crazy.” She takes off her shoes and immediately makes for the master bedroom. Before she can get there, however, she hears a knock at her door. Because of course. She can't catch a break. She turns around and walks back to the door. This better be Ignis with a hot plate of-

And it's Iris. And she's got that “won't take no for an answer” look. And she's stepping inside.

“Tell me what's wrong.” Iris closes the door behind her.

Aranea proceeds to talk out of her ass. “Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to give you some space, since...you know.” It's not entirely a lie, more of a half-truth. Or, a quarter of the truth. In any case, Iris doesn't buy it for a second.

“Look. I'm gonna be just fine. Now for goodness’ sake, will you just be straightforward with me?” Iris doesn't look angry, just...upset. Deeply bothered. Worried. In other words, it's hard to say no to her.

“I don't even really know,” Aranea confesses. “I think I know, but then I don't know.” She slaps her sunburnt forehead. “I mean, just listen to me. Sounding like some damn teenager.”

“Is it what happened in Lestallum?” Iris asks. “The daybreak?”

Aranea looks Iris in the eyes. “...I decline to answer.”

Without another word, Iris places her hands on Aranea’s shoulders and kisses her. It's not a seductive kiss, but a firm, sincere affirmation. An affirmation of what, Aranea couldn't say. She lets what follows come naturally. Her arms wrap loosely around Iris’ neck and her body moves forward on its own until she's pressed against the other woman. Iris’ hands drop to Aranea’s waist and linger there for a moment before she breaks the kiss. “You sure about that?”

Aranea gives a soft sigh. “ Fine. I...think…” This is just as hard as she imagined. “I might…”

“Stop,” Iris says. She presses her forehead against Aranea’s. “Only tell me that when you've stopped hesitating. Please.”

That, Aranea can understand. Of all the things she doesn't quite get, or doesn't want to get, that rings loud and clear. Half-assed confessions are worthless. “Okay.” She stands on the tips of her toes to speak into Iris’ ear. “But please, finish what you started.”

Without missing a beat, Iris’ hands move to Aranea’s breasts and cup them through her shirt. “I've been wanting to do that all day.” She gives a light squeeze and then her hands retreat back to her sides. “Ahem. Anyway…”

“Anyway…” Aranea’s hands slide up from near Iris’ shoulders to her jaw. Her thumb strokes over the scar on Iris’ cheek. Her fingertips have met with several other scars accumulated in the time of “the Daemon Slayer” - all of them, in fact - but this one always stands out. Maybe because she sees it all the time. Aranea kisses Iris’ cheek, then her lips, a little roughly but not aggressively. She feels Iris’ hands rest on her back, and they tug her closer whether Iris is aware or not.

It's not long before Iris’ tongue comes out to play. The thing’s got a mind of its own and Aranea can't say she's ever complained. Quick flicks are followed by nibbles on her lower lip and, be it a result of pride or instinct, Aranea bites right back.

Aranea paws at Iris’ shirt, wrinkled by the dried sweat from the day. The smell is all over her: sweat, dirt, whatever else. Hard work, strength, and dreams. This is starting to feel a little...primal? Whatever. Aranea can't bring herself to care. Her hands drop in order to slip under Iris’ shirt and feel up her skin: the chiseled muscle and the scars and that bit of stickiness left over from the sweat and those beautiful breasts that fit right in her hands and  _ oh she's got it bad. _

Iris lets out a few voiced breaths as Aranea’s hands massage her breasts, squeezing and pinching and pulling like they're her own personal playthings, which they might as well be at this particular moment in time. Aranea steps forward, pushing Iris back until she's against the door. She feels the hands on her back fall, repositioning themselves right on her ass. If it were anyone else they'd be incapacitated in a flash. But since it's Iris and  _ only because it's Iris,  _ she relishes the touch. The firm hands slap her behind, and the lips so attentively kissing hers move on to her neck. Aranea isn't sure what to do with her mouth now. She wants to kiss Iris again.

...She wants to kiss Iris again.

Aranea slips her hands out from beneath Iris’ shirt and instead cups the younger woman's face. She tilts Iris’ head up, and stares at her for a second. Now how in the hell does someone so young and gorgeous fancy someone like herself? Their lips meet again, dismissing the question and other fleeting thoughts.

A knock against the door brings things to a screeching halt. “Miss Highwind? I brought a couple of things for you.”

_ Fucking Talcott. _

He must've just arrived in Insomnia. Or appeared as part of some divine cockblocking intervention. Aranea’s tempted to just keep at it and ignore the kid, but she knows it's over when Iris pulls away and lets her go. Shit.

Aranea takes a few steps back. “Yeah, one sec.” She slows her breath, trying to get it back to her normal resting rate but that proves difficult when she's pissed off. And horny. And whatever else. Guilty, maybe.Then Iris kisses her forehead, and for a split second everything feels just right.

Iris opens the door. “Hey, Talcott. We were just talking about some girl stuff. You said you have stuff for Ara?”

Talcott looks down to a single suitcase standing at his side. “Yes. Miss Highwind, I wasn't sure when you’d be back in Lestallum, so I went ahead and brought your things. Miss Iris, I left your bag and your sword outside unit 402. That's the one you chose, right?”

Iris pushes Talcott’s shoulder playfully. “‘Miss.’ Yeah, that’s the room. By the way, do you happen to know the plan for tomorrow?”

Talcott scratches the back of his neck. “If I remember correctly, we're expanding the cleanup operation and some of the hunters are going to finish up planting the crops.” The mere mention of planting exacerbates the echoing pain of Aranea’s sunburns. “There will be some work going on with the water, but that shouldn’t get in your way. I’ll be making a trip back to Lestallum tomorrow evening, so if you’d like a ride by chance, you know who to call.”

Aranea has to admit, a hot shower - or just a shower, period - in Lestallum does sound appealing. Maybe she’ll reward herself after putting in hard work tomorrow. Even if her ride does have a knack for showing up at the worst possible time. “Duly noted,” Iris says. “Well, thanks. I take it everyone’s headed off to bed?”

Talcott looks over his shoulder. “Looks like it. I think I’ll follow suit. The two of you should rest as well. Goodnight, Miss Iris. Goodnight, Miss Highwind.” He excuses himself and walks toward the stairs. Iris turns around and looks at Aranea. They don’t say a word, because the words are all mangled together and stuck on the tips of their tongues.

The decisive factor comes from outside. “Iris,” Gladiolus calls from down the hall. “You never told me you were swingin’ such a huge sword around.” It seems swords are more important than sleep for some people.

Iris shrugs with a bittersweet smile. “See you tomorrow, Ara.”

How in the world did Aranea ever become okay with Iris calling her that? Oh, yeah.  _ Because she’s Iris.  _ “Heh. Goodnight.”

Iris leaves, and Aranea heats up half a jug of water on the electric stovetop in a still-shiny-after-a-decade pot. She takes a seat on the bed in the next room as the water steams. The mattress is stiff, but no worse than her worn-out one back in Lestallum. Everything feels so still and quiet now that she’s alone. She’s not sure if it’s refreshing or isolating. At least she has privacy. That’s a good thing. Yeah. She gets up and paces around a little, frequently checking the water. She’ll rest well tonight. She can feel it in her bones. Or maybe that’s just the afteraches of manual labor.

* * *

Aranea has a dream that night. She lies curled up with her hand still resting between her thighs after unsuccessful attempts at relief. A feeling of comfort fills her unconscious mind, and her lips mirror the smile she sees in her sleep. She won’t remember it when she wakes up, but the calm will remain from the soft voice she hears cooing her name: “Ara.”


	4. Twinkle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Departure, Lestallum-bound.

All the heavy lifting would’ve been a huge bore, had Iris not made a competition out of it. Now there’s a little more motivation, despite Gladiolus being ahead of everyone. As expected. Aranea drags a bent, gnawed-on metal pole toward the garbage truck currently serving as transportation for junk and more junk. Talcott picks up pieces of glass from shattered windows as best he can and puts them in bags. The Amicitias find the biggest broken-off chunks from buildings that they possibly can and carry them to the truck. Show-offs. At least she can talk to Iris without being super awkward now. The sun coming up shouldn’t have changed much, but everything felt different for those first two days. Things are still changing now, but at least she kind of has a grip on her feelings. Sort of. Is “love” the right word? Aranea isn’t one to throw that word around, especially in a romantic sense.

Aranea shakes off the thoughts and hoists the pole into the truck. She’s only thinking so much about it because Jeanne grilled her that morning before returning to Lestallum with Cindy. The task at hand is to fix up this city.

Iris sets down a big lump of rock by the truck and and rests her hands on her knees. “Phew. That one hurt. But hey, progress.” She smiles, and it’s contagious. It’s not so much the fact that she’s smiling as the sparkle in her eyes when she smiles genuinely. She’s as tough as they come: shredded, scarred, and stressed. And still that look alone makes her the most adorable creature in existence. In all honesty, it’s not fair at all.

“Yeah,” Aranea says. “Don’t hurt yourself, though.” She looks around at the closeby buildings, then in the direction of the Citadel. “Say, did you… You got to say goodbye, right?”

Iris takes her hands off her knees and lifts the rock again. Her muscles very visibly contract as she lifts it up and pushes it into the bed of the garbage truck. “Ow.” She rolls her shoulders a few times. “Yeah. I did. His ashes are in the throne room. We’ll have a proper funeral after things are back up and running.”

Aranea lowers her head a tad. So they already cremated him. It makes sense. “Just let me know if you’re feeling down, okay?”

“I will. And ditto goes for you.” Iris takes a knee. “Ah...yep. Break time.”

A certain blonde engineer had advised Aranea to be honest with herself before she drove off. That’s not hard. She’ll just be her usual self. Except, maybe she’ll start allowing herself to be a little more dorky, a little more mushy, a little bit more outright embarrassing when she’s with Iris. As uncool as it is, that’s how she feels sometimes, and it feels pretty damn great. Not as great as a steamy  _ uninterrupted  _ makeout session, but still nice. “Try not to overdo it so much. I’ve still gotta screw your brains out, you know.”

 

That was not what Aranea intended to come out of her mouth.

 

Iris cocks an eyebrow and smirks. “Well, alright then. It’s a date. In Lestallum.” She strolls off to what remains of a nearby statue and sits in the patch of fake grass surrounding it. Aranea mentally punches herself. There’s a line between being normal flirtation and whatever that was. She tries to look on the bright side. At least she feels some sort of shame. If Iris had been the one to say it, she’d probably be grinning ear to ear and feeling proud of herself.

The cleanup continues as other teams do other work in different parts of Insomnia. It’s a huge group effort, and the progress has become more and more visible, even in this short span of time. Taking some amount of pride in that fact, Aranea puts forth her best effort until the dinner bell - or, Prompto  shouting that Ignis is cooking - sounds. Regrettably, Aranea won’t be around for the meal, but Talcott promises that Monica will have hot food waiting for them. It’s ironic, she thinks, how Talcott brought her and Iris’ belongings here only to be bringing them right back the next evening. Iris climbs into the bed of Talcott’s truck with her sword and her bag before either of her traveling companions are ready to go. “Hey, slowpokes.”

At Iris’ jeer, Aranea hops in the back next to her and Talcott gets in the driver’s seat. “Come back soon,” Gladiolus says as Talcott starts the engine. Of course he would be the one to see them off. When all’s said in done, Iris is his sister. For a moment, Aranea wonders what having a sibling would be like.

Iris gives a small nod to her brother. “There’s a very high probability of that happening. See ya around, Gladdy.”

Gladiolus waves. “Safe journey.” Talcott hits the gas.

And so they’re on the road. The empty, quiet road. Aranea is thinking something, and she’s sure Iris is thinking the same thing. The question is of who will actually say it. The one to break the silence is, of course, Iris. “I feel like I should be battle-ready, even though the daemons are gone.”

Aranea looks up at the sky. “Ugh, tell me about it. Old habits.”

Iris looks up as well. “Oh. The stars are coming out.”

She’s right. As the sunlight retreats, more and more tiny glimmering specks become visible. Aranea hasn’t had time to sit down and stare at the sky yet, and she doubts anyone else helping with the reconstruction effort has either. It’s funny how balls of gas light years away, tiny things she never thought much of, are so damn  _ beautiful  _ now that she’s actually paying them some attention _.  _ You never know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone. Or, in this case, you never know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone for ten years and then comes back.

“You into constellations?” Iris asks.

Aranea answers with a flat, “Nah.” She glances over at Iris. “You are?”

“I maaay have had a phase when I was younger. Look.” Iris points to...somewhere in the sky; Aranea doesn't have a clue what she's looking at. “Those five stars there...and then those two below. Together they're called Lindzei. See it?”

Aranea tries to follow Iris’ line of sight. “Mmm….nope. But continue.”

Iris moves her finger a little to the left. “Pulse. Four stars. It's like Lindzei’s cousin. There's actually a moogle constellation, but you can't see it with the naked eye.” She points directly up. “Eye of Etro. Let's see… There's one called Highwind, actually. I forget what it looked like. But I could argue that having you here is better than any group of stars.”

Aranea nudges Iris with her elbow. “No argument about it.” She stares out at the nightscape as silence befalls the two, momentarily. It's not long at all before Iris speaks again.

“You know, it's kind of scary. After fighting and hunting and really just focusing on survival for so long, I'm not sure what to do. After Insomnia is restored to its former glory and all the refugees are living comfortably, what then?”

Aranea holds back a laugh. So, Iris is finally having the “what the hell do I do with my life” crisis that was delayed by the whole “world being plunged into darkness” thing. Aranea points at a random star. “Sky full of more stars than you can count and a world full of an equal amount of dreams.” She lowers her arm. “Granted you don't restrict yourself only to whatever duty calls, you can do whatever the hell you want. So, what do you want? Sensical or not, just talk.”

Iris hums thoughtfully. “Hmmm. I could travel the world. Go to places I haven’t been yet. Or help keep the peace. Be a police officer or something. Legislator? Since the royal bloodline has ended, things will probably get a little shaky in Insomnia. Or I could...go back and finish high school?” She smiles at Aranea, and then the two erupt into laughter.

“Hey,” Aranea says, still giggling a little. “To each their own, but I’d advise you to go out and do all the crazy shit you can before you get old like me.”

Iris rolls her eyes. “You are not old.”

“You  _ can  _ see, right?” Aranea scoffs. She looks out toward the road, at the grass and the pavement they leave behind that stretches into blackness. Iris’ fingers entwine with hers. Whether to show any signs of reciprocation or pull her hand away is a decision Aranea doesn’t feel like making, so she leaves it be. Besides, she’s cold from the wind and Iris’ hand - Iris in general - is warm.

“Well, you’re young enough for me to fall in love with.”

Aranea says nothing, but turns her head. She can hardly see Iris in the dark, and she’s grateful that the vice versa applies. Her heart is in her throat. Why? She couldn’t choke a word out if she wanted to. So she does what she can. With just a little bit of pressure, she squeezes Iris’ hand.


	5. Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems like things are working themselves out.

They don’t have sex when they get to Aranea’s apartment. They kiss, softly and slowly in an embrace on the single bed. Streetlights paint stripes in the dark room through the blinds. Iris’ eyes shine in the light. Aranea can’t stop staring. Her vulnerability has been leaking out for days but now it’s overflowing, and the arms holding her are the only thing keeping her from crumbling from the rush of emotions that she can’t give names to. It doesn’t make any sense, why she feels like this. Did it build up over the past four years and explode or did it all happen at once? She can’t understand it. She doesn’t know if she even wants to. But thank goodness. Thank goodness it’s Iris. Thank goodness it’s not anyone else. If it were anyone else she’d die.

“Thank you.” Aranea’s lip trembles a little after she says those words. Iris kisses her. It’s calming when she does that; her short kiss where their lips meet for just a second but the touch is so full of care. It’s safe, that’s what it is. Iris’ kiss is safe. Her arms are safe. Her lap is safe. Her very aura is a shield and she is the only one Aranea trusts with the most delicate pieces of her heart. Because she will keep them safe.

Oh.

So that’s it. Finally, Aranea understands something. She lets out a quiet laugh and captures Iris’ lips with her own. Her hands wander by themselves, ending up in Iris’ hair. Her fingers run through the dark brown locks down to her shoulders, then come to a rest there. She pulls away to take a breath, and then she’s caught again. Staring. It’s laughable. She almost does laugh, but it’s a little too late to incite a round of uncontrolled giggling. Besides, it’s nice like this. Nearly all of Lestallum is asleep. Every breath, every kiss, every creak of the bed is audible. It’s not quiet enough to hear a pin drop, but it is so enough for Aranea’s near-whisper to be heard loud and clear. “Hey, guess what?” She stares a little longer, just enough to make sure she won’t trip over her words. “What?” Iris asks with a smile.

“I love you.”

* * *

It’s funny how when they finally get some time alone without Talcott popping up out of nowhere, they don’t even fuck. Aranea can’t bring herself to be angry, though. Last night was nice. The most ridiculous three-day internal conflict of her life is resolved, and now she’s waking up next to an adorable (former) daemon hunter bearing three visible hickeys. From this angle. Aranea touches her own neck. How many does  _ she  _ have? Well, good thing she has concealer.

 

They don't leave the apartment until around noon. Showers are something to be cherished, even more so when the water's hot. Today's a lucky day. Monica serves up brunch, and of course she's just got to inquire: “You two seemed in a rush last night. Not that Talcott had any complaints about eating up your portions. Are you all rested up now?”

“Yup, slept great,” Aranea says between bites. Hopefully that's the end of it. Monica’s probably wondering why they both went back to her place, but that's not exactly something to ask over a meal.

“So.” Iris sets an arm on the table, already done with her food. Maybe it's the nerves, or maybe she was just hungry. “I'd hate to slack off. There anything I can help with around here?”

Monica smiles. “I'm glad you asked. You, and Aranea here, for that matter, are well-suited to this task. As you may be aware, monsters do still roam. I'd like you to go on patrol and note any that you come across. I also ask that you eliminate any immediate threats to travelers and to bring back meat, if possible.”

Aranea stands up. “That, we can do. Just tell us which vehicle to hop on.”

“The patrol truck departs in fifty-three minutes,” Monica replies. “Feel free to relax until then.”

“Got it,” Iris says. She immediately makes for the town's miniscule but charming market district, and tugs Aranea along. It's pretty much just an alley with a few stalls and some plastic flowers to make it look decent, but it's common knowledge that the merchants are friendly and optimistic. No wonder Iris is a regular visitor, whether there's anything useful up for trade or not. What  _ is  _ a wonder is how she can grab Aranea’s hand as they walk without batting an eye.

“What are you doing?” Aranea surveys the surroundings with her eyes. No one seems to be focused on their hands in particular, thankfully.

“What?” Iris asks. “Can't I hold my girl's hand?”

“Can't I try to make sure my girl's reputation stays intact?” Aranea quips back.

Iris shrugs. “Screw a rep. Love is love. If anyone has a problem, they can deal with that on their own.”

It's true that two grown women in a relationship are unlikely to suddenly be shunned by the entire populace. Those who take issue can piss right off. Except for one man whose opinion might actually matter. “Yeah, but you know people like to gossip. Word travels fast. And I'm not exactly pumped to be interrogated by Gladiolus.”

Iris clearly doesn't give a shit. This woman gives negative shits. She kisses Aranea right there in the middle of the market district, and it's so tender yet so  _ spiteful.  _ “You leave Gladdy to me. He's come to terms with the fact that his baby sister is a grownass woman. I'm sure he'll get over any gripes he might have about our relationship. We... _ are  _ dating, right?”

Aranea looks down at their hands. “I’d say it's close enough.” They share a laugh; one of those laughs that come out for no reason. Nothing about this is funny. Except for maybe the nearby merchant who joins in with his own chuckling. No, that's just awkward. But Iris does as Iris is, and she acknowledges him warmly.

“What's fresh on the market?”

The merchant whips out a sealed pack of playing cards and a full bottle of wine. “Wouldn't call it fresh, but hunters been bringing back all sorts of miscellany from towns during recon. Don't suppose you'd fancy a pack of gum? Turns out they hold up a lot nicer than you’d think.”

“Not unless you'd trade for an IOU for a slab of meat,” Iris chuckles. “We're gonna get going. Take care, you hear?”

The merchant taps the pack of cards on the table of his stall. “Right back atcha, Missy. Your girlfriend too.”

Aranea tenses up for a moment.  _ Girlfriend.  _ Gonna take a minute to get used to that. Even Iris seems a little nervous, under a layer of giddiness. What a dork. A cute dork. A cute dork keeping her hand nice and warm.

Fifty-three minutes pass in the blink of an eye. Only when Iris lets go of her hand to hop aboard the patrol truck does Aranea realize they've been holding hands the entire time. That's a little embarrassing...but worth it. So, totally worth it.

The patrol truck heads off in the opposite direction from Insomnia. Looking at the scenery with eyes peeled for wildlife, it's haunting how little there actually is. “I used to drive out here all the time,” a hunter says. “Used to have to stop for all sorts of four-legged creatures to cross. Always made me late. There was no way they could've escaped the daemons.” She adjusts her binoculars. “Shit, sorry. Didn't mean to get all sentimental.”

“Chill out,” Iris says. “That just shows you're human. Behemoth due south. Seems to be minding its own business. Not headed toward any populated area.”

“Got it.” The hunter sets down her binoculars and writes in a notebook.

“Zu gliding toward the eastern crater. Normal behavior for this time of year,” Aranea adds.

The hunter jots down the notes quickly and gets back to observing the environment. “Well, at least it looks like a lot of the birds made it. And who knows? Maybe a miracle will happen and all the species we think are extinct might crawl out of the woodwork.”

A starry-eyed optimist, huh? This girl's filled with more hope than Iris, and that's saying something. Aranea decides not to ruin her mood. “Well, these  _ are _ brighter days.” What an awful pun. Hopefully no one will bring it up later.

The pavement changes to a slightly more rough asphalt, and the truck shakes a bit. “Think Cindy's excited for when they finally get to doing some road work?” Iris asks. It's a shocker that woman's truck is still intact. But then again, she is a mechanic.

The truck slows down as it heads downhill, gradually coming to a stop. The driver steps out. “Just picked up a message on the ol’ radio. Some hunters are in a pickle with a Behemoth King. Actually one of ‘em insisted they're all green but if that were the case, why call? Anyway, if one of the two experts here could go up ahead and make sure everything’s hunky dory before we drive through, I'd sure appreciate it.”

Aranea looks down the road. The only building she sees appears to be a giant warehouse. Is that where huge furry beasts hang out now? The place is enormous, sure, but...kind of an odd den. Oh, well. Better get this over with. “Back in a flash.”

“Be safe, Babe,” Iris says as Aranea picks up her lance. The absolute heathen. “Don't make it gross,” Aranea mocks. She starts down the road, guard up. Looks like she'll be able to get that meat Monica wanted.


	6. Everybody Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to one-shot a Behemoth King.

Talcott kneels directly in the hairy beast’s path with a rocket launcher on his shoulder. Based on its attacks so far and its injured claw, it'll definitely attack with its fangs. As soon as it opens its mouth, boom. “That's right, come here…”

The Behemoth King trots forward, clearly inhibited by wounds. “Are you sure?” a hunter behind the monster shouts. “Completely,” Talcott responds without a moment's hesitation as his target draws closer. Five, four…

In the blink of an eye, a fresh spatter of behemoth blood is all over the floor, and three quarters of Aranea’s spear is buried in her foe’s head. The Behemoth King gives a screeching howl, which comes to an abrupt end when Aranea tears her weapon from its flesh and hops to the ground. She doesn't flash a grin or make a snarky comment. She marches right up to Talcott in his stunned silence and grabs him by the collar, pulling him up to his feet. “What in the hell do you think you're doing?”

Talcott takes a step back to safely set the rocket launcher down. “I was eliminating a Behemoth King, Miss Highwind. But, it looks like you finished the job.”

Aranea clenches her fists. “For the love of- If I hadn't been here and your plan fucked up, you'd be dead. What was your backup if the launcher failed, huh? At that range, you're food!” She pushes Talcott’s shoulder, hard. “You have to be careful. You know that.” She takes a pause and massages her temples. “Sorry. Didn't mean to blow up. People care about you, Talcott. Don't forget that. And don't die.”

Talcott swallows and nods his head. “Yes, ma'am. My apologies, Miss Highwind.”

Aranea twirls her lance. “Oh, and another thing. Cut the formalities. It's Aranea. Now let's get moving.”

Aranea leads the way back up to the truck, with Talcott and two other hunters behind her dragging half of a leg cut off from the beast’s body. Apparently someone forgot to make sure they had a spare tire and they got stuck out here, but they were supposed to be clearing the area of any monsters and setting up camp anyway. Still, no one predicted a behemoth. Iris practically jumps at the chance to clean up their wounds, which, despite the opponent, are minor. The worst is a giant bruise on Talcott’s back. Unfortunately for him, no one brought ice along and Iris gives out an even harsher tongue-lashing than Aranea.

“In conclusion,” she says, almost out of breath after a ten-minute rant. “Don't be a fucking dumbass.” She gives Talcott’s bruise an audible slap and reclines in the bed of the truck. Tough love. Aranea looks out for any more roaming monsters. According to the route map, they should be on the road back to Lestallum soon. Hopefully the observations thus far of monsters minding their own business will continue for the rest of the drive. It'll take a little longer than expected with three extra bodies, some extra weapons, and half a behemoth leg weighing the truck down, but that's life. Something about it makes Aranea want to laugh. That's a good thing, she supposes. She hasn't been giving laughter the credit it deserves. 

“So what was the hurry last night?” Talcott asks. “Not that I'm complaining. Three meals are better than one. But the way you two rushed off had me a little concerned. Is everything okay?”

Aranea decides to leave this one to Iris.

“We needed to make out.”

Aranea shouldn't have left this one to Iris.

Talcott takes his sweet time coming up with a response, and it's as plain as they come: “I see.”

Thankfully, the other hunters soon start chattering about whatever, and the subject of the relationship between the Dragoon and the Daemon Slayer takes a back seat. That is, until they arrive back in Lestallum.

One of the first people Aranea happens to see is Jeanne, who invites her to come chat. Since it looks like Monica is sending Iris right back out, she goes to stand by the engineer’s desk and leans back against the wall behind them.

“I heard you kissed her, right there in the market.” Jeanne lifts a few different stacks of papers until she finds a stick of gum. “Ah.” She unwraps it and slips it in her mouth before returning to what she’d been doing before: tapping her pen against a mostly empty sheet of paper.

“She kissed me, to set the record straight,” Aranea says. “Messy story simplified, we're dating.”

Jeanne nods her head. “Mmmhm. Cool, cool. So you managed to get everything figured out? No more awkwardness?”

For the most part, they  _ have  _ gotten over the hurdles. Their feelings are clear to one another. Their relationship is “official.” The only thing Aranea can really say she's worried about is how Big Brother will react. Not that his disapproval would change their minds, but it'd be nice to not be scorned by the person closest to her girlfriend. “I don't know how Gladiolus is gonna take it. He's bound to hear soon. Damn gossip mongers.”

Jeanne snickers. “Well, hey. Even if he's not keen on it at first, he'll come around. Dude's got a big heart.”

That he does. Even if he can be a douche sometimes. Aranea looks up at the darkening sky. “You're right.”

The stars are slowly emerging from the vast nothing, and they look spectacular.


	7. House of Amicitia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iris goes home.

When Iris had arrived in Lestallum, Monica gave her a message from Gladio: “Come home.” She knew exactly what it meant, so she took off. She can explain to Aranea later. Right now she's...in awe, for one. A lot more streets have been cleaned up since her recent visit to Insomnia, and all the surviving streetlights are lit up. Plus a giant billboard. It's a nice touch. But it is kind of weird that she can hardly remember her way back. It really _has_ been a long time.

When Iris finds the Amicitia house, it's half destroyed. Strangely enough, a couple of lights are on. They're not exactly the brightest after so long, but they make the interior visible. The front door is a pile of rubble, which is fine. The nearby window works just as well. The foyer is a mess. It looks like Gladio put the furniture back in place, but there are scratches and broken glass all over the floor. And then there's...the picture. Sitting there on the mantel is a portrait of their parents.

Iris stares at her mother's face. She finally sees the resemblance now. “Dad, Mom, I'm home. Things got pretty crazy, but we made it through. The line of Lucis has ended…” An image manifests in her mind, of Noctis. The Chosen King. A good man undeserving of the burden placed on his shoulders. Her dear friend. “As those born of the house of Amicitia, we will guard the King’s legacy by defending the people of Lucis.”

Iris’ upright posture slackens a bit. “Even though, these days I see us all as one people, Lucian or not. As horrible as it was, ten years of darkness brought people from all over Eos together. Not that I think everybody in the world's gonna be buddy-buddy forever, but for now I'd like to lend my shield to anyone and everyone.”

It's a firm statement, one that she believes in...but monologuing to a picture probably isn't the best way to say it. Or maybe it is. It's a little cathartic, at least. “Thanks, you guys.”

Iris goes deeper into the house. Her room might still be intact. Based on the lack of scratches and other telltale signs, it doesn't look like any daemons explored much. Iris finds that her room is unscathed. When she opens the door, she flips the light switch. The light flickers and dies, so she takes out her flashlight and sets it to flood mode.

Her bed is still made. Everything's where she left it, aside from a few items that fell over. Her book of quick and dirty sewing tips is on her desk, covered in dust. A basket of clean laundry lies on the floor by her dresser. That dirty BL novel is hidden in plain sight on her shelf between two classics she had to read for class. _Class._ High school. It seems like a lifetime ago. It's hard to believe this room is hers.

The sound of movement at the front of the house catches Iris’ attention. She turns off the flashlight and closes her door, stepping back into the hallway. She slips the flashlight back into its place in her pocket. “Gladdy, that you?” she calls.

“Yeah,” Gladio hollers back. The sound of his footsteps precede him, but he rounds the corner moderately quickly with a wet cleaning rag in his hand. “When I said come home I didn't mean for it to sound urgent.”

“Heh.” Iris puts her hands in her pockets. “Couldn't help it. It's good to see this place again.”

Gladio leans against the wall and takes a satisfied breath. “It sure is.” And then he coughs from the dust.

Iris pats him on the shoulder. “Come on. Let's get back and rest up.”

Gladio nods. “Yeah. One more thing before we go.”

“Hm?”

“Word on the rumor radar is that you and Aranea are a couple. What's up with that?”

Damn. Word travels fast.

Iris scratches her neck. If she could tell Talcott, she can tell her brother. No biggie. “Right. About that. We…” Which words to use? No need to give a full disclosure on the fuckbuddies thing. “Yes. We're a couple.” She watches Gladio’s face as he thinks. He's not happy. But he doesn't seem angry. “...You'd better not be preparing a lecture in your head.”

“Hmph.” Gladio smirks and takes his weight off the wall. “Nah. You're always gonna be my little sister, but your life and your decisions are just that. However, I will ask you to pass on a message.”

“What's that?”

Gladio gives a hearty laugh. Iris doesn't know what that's all about, but she guesses it means there won't be any drama, thankfully. “Same thing I'd tell to anyone dating you: ‘Break her heart and I'll kill ya.’”

Iris tilts her head to the side. “Hmm, you know? I don't think she'd have it any other way.” The siblings share a laugh as they set out.

* * *

The morning brings news of running water and Cindy's insistence that Iris come on a drive with her.

“I didn't know you were in town,” Iris says as they eat breakfast. Iggy’s cooking never disappoints.

Cindy takes a sip of water. “Well, I didn't know you snuck into the Crown City in the dead of night.”

“It wasn't that late. Anyway, you want me on monster duty for your next drive?”

“Somethin’ like that. Really I just wanna be nosy.”

“Shoot.” Iris gives Cindy an expectant stare.

Cindy laughs into her hand. “A real open one, huh? I just wanna know if you and your sweetheart are alright. That's the hot gossip right now, as you probably know.”

Iris slumps a little. “Yeah. I know. Hopefully it'll blow over quickly. Ara’s not one to enjoy having a public spotlight on her love life, and frankly neither am I.”

“Understandable,” Cindy replies. “Now Iris, I want you to hear this.”

Iris gives a single nod for Cindy to continue.

“We've all been stressed to our wits’ ends for a decade and we're still stressin’ today. As soon as you think you can - today, tomorrow, next year - I want you to take Miss Aranea and I want you to go somewhere. I want you to go and relax and not think about the reconstruction. Just breathe and enjoy yourselves. Then when you're nice and de-stressed you can come on back and we'll welcome you with open arms, good food, and work to keep ya busy. Can I ask that of you?”

Instead of asking why Cindy is so invested in her relationship, Iris smiles with gratitude. “You're right. Thank you. I will.”

Cindy gives an approving nod. “Better keep your word on that, Miss Duty To The People.”

Iris looks off to the side, shrugging as if to admit guilt, and then she locks eyes with Cindy. “Cross my heart.”

END


	8. Bonus: "Baby"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year later, someplace far away from responsibilities... Horny things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to tack this on despite being terrible at writing smut. This has nothing to do with the story, so feel free to skip it. Name-calling, mild choking, Iris being a meanie, you've been warned. Well, I'm back off to fic prison.

“I'm getting too old for this,” Aranea says with a breathy voice. She's pressed against the wall with one of Iris’ hands down her pants and the other up her shirt. The lips on the back of her neck, kissing her and blowing against her and whispering into her ear - those are another story.

“Nonsense, Miss Highwind,” Iris teases. She does a husky little giggle, right in her ear.

“Cut that out,” Aranea grumbles. She gives a sharp inhale as a finger strokes over her panties. “Shit.”

“My apologies,  _ Madame  _ Highwind.”

“You are so annoying.” Aranea pulls at her pants, tugging them down to her thighs because fuck it, that's plenty of space for Iris to finish her off if they're gonna do it against the wall when the bed is  _ right there. _

“You're right,” Iris says, rolling Aranea’s nipple between her fingers. “I think I like Mommy Highwind.”

“You'd better cut that out, you little freak.”

“You love it,” Iris purs. She moves her hips a little, giving a light thrust and making a slow, circular motion with her finger. “Mm, you’re so cute.” She plants a kiss near Aranea’s collarbone and makes a trail up to her jaw. Aranea tilts her head back, sighing as Iris adds another finger to the slow rhythm and rubs through her panties with more pressure.

“You say something, baby?” Iris keeps at it, no hint of remorse in her voice. Aranea grabs her unattended breast, massaging it in her hand as Iris takes care of the other. Not that she'd ever in a million years admit to enjoying the name-calling, but some of the things Iris says… They get to her more than others. She croaks out the word, “Bed.”

Iris splits her fingers apart, and switches from circles to stroking along the outline of Aranea’s folds. “Not yet, baby.” She sucks on Aranea’s neck, hips proceeding to grind against her for that little bit of friction. Her hand kneads Aranea’s breast, squeezing it and weighing it and slapping it, and pinching her nipple just right because she  _ knows  _ that area is sensitive and… “Bed,” Aranea says more firmly.

All of a sudden Iris’ hand slips out of Aranea’s pants entirely and pulls at her hair, tilting her head back even more. She growls into Aranea’s ear: “Use your big girl words and say please.”

 

What a fucking pervert.

 

Aranea lifts her free hand into Iris’ hair and pulls on it, bringing the younger woman's face down against her neck. Iris, of course, uses this as an opportunity to kiss her there again. And again. And again.

“Take me to bed or I'll fucking kill you,” Aranea says. “How's that for big girl words?” The response comes quickly with Iris releasing her hair and moving her hand back to her crotch, rubbing in faster circles than before through the now-damp fabric. And that shuts Aranea right up, save for an audible breath in.

“Now those aren't nice words,” Iris says. She could do this all day. Aranea knows she could do this all day. She just  _ might _ do this all day, teasing and taunting until she gets what she wants. “Come on. Just say please, baby.”

“Fucking perverted dickwad.” Aranea isn't the kind of woman to give up her pride so easily. But Iris is just as stubborn, and she has Aranea’s weaknesses down to a science. She'll break soon.

“That's right, I'm a mean ol’ pervert.” Iris makes a gutteral noise, hungry and almost animalistic. “Come on. Tell me. Say it. Say please, baby.” She breathes against Aranea’s ear, and rubs her just right-

“Please.” Aranea curses herself silently, but fuck, she needs this. “Fuck. Just...bed, please. Happy?”

“Elated.” Iris scoops her girlfriend up like she weighs nothing at all and sets her on the nearby bed. Aranea, having no desire to lose any momentum, pulls Iris on top of her and kisses her. And then of course Iris’ tongue, that damn  _ tongue,  _ flicks out at her, and draws along her lips as if claiming them. But that's right, isn't it? Her lips belong to Iris, just like Iris’ tongue and fingers and natural ability to  _ fuck  _ belong to her.

Aranea grasps Iris’ neck, just tight enough to make sure she doesn't go anywhere because she needs that kiss. The taste of Iris is an addiction and she needs her fill even if her clit is screaming for attention.

“Baby,” Iris says with the breaths between their kisses. It's not teasing anymore. It's affectionate and delicate, like the touch of her hands slowly ghosting down to Aranea’s thighs where the pants still hug her skin. Aranea wants the damn things off, now, but she wants some revenge a little more. Her hold on Iris’ neck tightens, forcing quicker, louder breaths and she can swear she hears a whimper in there. She wants to hear more of it.

“You say something, baby?” Aranea mocks, and then she kisses the breath out of Iris before finally releasing her neck. Iris takes that first gasp of air and then she smirks, breathing through her mouth with a hint of a laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re mad, Ara.”

Aranea bends her legs and tugs her pants toward her ankles. “Depends how good you do right now.”

Iris lends her hands and pulls the pants off Aranea’s feet before tossing them to the floor. “So I’m forgiven, then.” Cocky little shit.

Aranea guides Iris’ hand between her thighs. “Just shut up and fuck me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Iris moves back a bit, settling into a lying position on her stomach, right between Aranea’s legs.

“Don’t call me that,” Aranea rebukes, letting her knees rest on Iris’ shoulders. Iris peppers her inner thighs with kisses as she does so, never breaking eye contact for more than half a second. “I’m sorry, baby,” she breathes against one thigh before moving to the other. She sucks on the skin, even nibbles on it, breathing hot air from her mouth so Aranea can hear it as much as she can feel it. Indecipherable murmurs from Iris’ lips move closer to the edge of Aranea’s panties, then farther away; higher, lower, forth, back, until her tongue gives a single prod against the fabric.

Aranea’s hips give a slight jerk. Iris smiles at that, keeping her eyes locked with Aranea’s as she kisses her thigh again, and pinches the lace of her panties with her fingers. She pulls it up a little, emphasizing the shape of Aranea’s swollen lips. Then she pushes Aranea’s legs into the air and strips her of the garment.

Before Aranea’s legs even drop back down completely, Iris has dived in. She breathes in Aranea’s scent, kisses her sex, sucks on her clit like it’s the last time. Her tongue goes in circles big and small, and her eyes stay fixed. She looks at Aranea with a tenderness that contrasts every word that’s come out of her mouth since they started, like she’s begging for something. “Ara, baby.”

Aranea turns her head. That look is too much. Almost without thinking, she reaches up her shirt and touches her breasts. They’re aching for attention and if she were to have Iris’ tongue anywhere else-

“Baby…” Iris gives small thrusts against the mattress, getting what stimulation she can while she tends to Aranea. Her fingers rest on Aranea’s thighs, waiting, tapping on her skin as if they’re impatient. “Baby, you taste so good.”

It’s embarrassing to hear. Nice, but embarrassing. Just about as embarrassing as being Iris’ sole focus and moaning out loud. Aranea can’t help it. She’s on fire. The desire is eating her up. Iris’ finger prods her, tests her. “Ah-” And it pushes in, slowly. Aranea’s mind blanks. “More.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, baby,” Iris says, and gets right back to flicking her tongue over Aranea’s clit. Her finger moves slowly, gradually increasing its pace to match the rhythm set by Aranea’s hips. She’s wet - very wet - and she’ll get what she wants soon, because she always does. Because Iris loves giving it to her.

_ “More.”  _ Aranea demands it like it’s her birthright. At this rate she won’t last long at all. Iris smiles, not relenting. Maybe she’ll tease Aranea about this later. She adds her second finger carefully, with even a bit of hesitance in contrast to Aranea, who, simply put, swallows it up. Iris sees pain in her face for a second, but the movement of her hips remains constant. She looks beautiful like this, Iris can’t help but think: red in the face, out of control of herself, desperately grasping her own breasts, clit swollen, fucked and hot and helplessly in need of release. There’s only one thing missing.

“Look at me, baby.” Iris curls her fingers and presses her tongue against Aranea’s clit. The move makes Aranea spasm and let out a noise that - Iris doesn’t know what it is, but she wants to hear it again. “Ara, look at me. Let me see you.” She tends to Aranea’s clit again, keeping a constant movement as her fingers do their work and Aranea, finally, turns her head. She sees Iris there, fucking her, loving her, loving to fuck her, and a last curl from those excellent fingers brings her over the edge. Aranea’s muscles tense, then release. A soft sound from the back of her throat slips out and she lets her arms drop to her sides. The gratification washes over her, and the waves don’t stop. Iris licks her, kisses her, breathes her in; her fingers thrust slowly and gently. Aranea can hardly halfway catch her breath before she feels the heat building inside her again. Iris adores her. She knows that. The fact is made clear all the time. Another clear fact that she knows is that Iris, for all her compassion and kindness, is insatiable when it comes to pleasuring her. If allowed, she’ll make Aranea come again and again and again until she physically can’t.

...Not that that’s a complaint.


End file.
